


Fun (for Fun and Profit)

by activevirtues



Category: Oglaf
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, F/F, Humor, Misses Clause Challenge, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/activevirtues/pseuds/activevirtues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out that monks have a narrow and unimaginative definition of fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fun (for Fun and Profit)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitsunealyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunealyc/gifts).



So apparently among the many rumors – some encouraged, over the years, by whispers into judiciously chosen and carefully left-intact ears – floating around about Greir was that she was somehow immune to fun. Though she could see the value in encouraging her customer base to believe that the only kind of fun she was interested in was fondling bags of gold paid on time, it was not, strictly speaking, the truth. Greir enjoyed many things that had nothing to do with her work.

She watched the monk scurry off, hand still clutching his nose as if to reassure himself that she hadn’t actually removed it from his face, and tried to remember the last time she’d really enjoyed herself. She thought of the flicker of the fire, the warmth it cast on her face as she’d watched the village with the shapeshifter burn after they’d stiffed her on their payment, and felt herself smiling in satisfaction. That had been fun. But somehow, Greir didn’t think that that was the sort of fun most people meant when they used the word.

“Hey,” she called to a passing kid, maybe fifteen, shaggy red hair flopping in his face as he herded his sheep through the alley. The kid looked petrified that she was talking to him, and shifted a little like he was contemplating hiding behind his sheep. Finally, he pointed to his chest. She rolled her eyes. “Who else would I be talking to, your sheep? Is everyone in Keldovan so fucking stupid?”

“I’m sorry!” the kid said in a voice that sounded like an ungreased wheel. “I didn’t mean – I’m – please don’t hurt me?” _Baa_ , one of his sheep added as his fingers twisted in its wool.

She sighed, not at all intending to be menacing, but it was enough to make the kid’s eyes widen. “Just tell me,” she said, “what do people do for fun around this festering shithole of a town?”

“The tavern?” he said, eyes still wide as saucers. “Or – there’s the whorehouse, three doors down from the tavern. Not – not that I ever – it’s really more for, um. I mean, you could try there?”

She waved him away, and he and all his sheep were out of the alleyway and halfway to the butcher’s faster than she’d ever imagined he could move. She thought about the tavern she’d seen on her way into town, as shabby as everything else in Keldovan, with a sign hanging on one hook that read _The Bar arian’s Kn b_ underneath a portrait of a bearded man with an improbably large cock jutting out from a loincloth of dirty furs. It didn’t look anything like her idea of a good time. It looked like the kind of place she would normally end up during one of her knocking-heads-together type of jobs.

Greir did find some pleasure in knocking heads together, though. Maybe a tavern brawl was just the thing.

 

\---

 

A tavern brawl, she concluded after a while, felt too much like work.

She sipped at her horn of mead and frowned at the publican, who was carefully picking his way through broken tables and shattered crockery. “What do you do for fun?” she asked.

The publican muttered something that she was pretty sure was extremely rude, and in other circumstances she would have cut his tongue out of his head at that. Maybe she was getting soft.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” she said in a dangerous voice. “Maybe you could speak up.”

“You might try a sport, I said.” He didn’t look up, just fished two unbroken ceramic mugs from under the remains of a table and kept searching for more. “I hear it makes one quite popular with the ladies.”

“Isn’t that great,” she said flatly, and knocked back the rest of her mead, slapping down five coppers on the bar before standing to leave.

“My wife finds baking very relaxing,” he said, “but sport seemed more your speed.” He found another unbroken mug behind a toppled chair and added it to the others.

She walked to the door and paused, watching him. Every once in a while he’d find another plate or cup unbroken, and he seemed genuinely surprised every time. Briefly she wondered how often this kind of thing happened in his pub. “You’ve been very helpful,” she said after a minute, and left.

 

\---

 

The road out of Keldovan was as bucolic as the town had been unpleasant. Greir had barely left the gates behind before the stench of the town dissipated, giving way to the scent of crisp autumn air, apples ripe in the orchards that lined the road, and beyond that, blowing from somewhere in the mountains along the horizon, the possibility of snow.

She walked on, and did not at all turn her thoughts to Meltwater.

At the edge of one of the orchards, the echo of fading laughter brought her up short. Ahead of her was a child, maybe four or five – she really didn’t know, nor, frankly, did she care – kicking an overripe apple along the road, a little dog with floppy ears that dragged nearly to the ground chasing after it as it rolled. “Get it, Meat!” she called after it, clapping in delight.

“Camanne!” A young woman emerged from the orchard, blue and brown skirts hiked up around her knees as she chased after the little girl. “Camanne, not into the road!”

Camanne and the puppy shot the woman a nearly-identical guilty look. “There’s nobody coming, Gersha,” she said, and added pleadingly, “Don’t tell Mum, please!”

Gersha swept her up in an embrace and pointed down the road to where Greir was standing. Greir thought for a minute about pretending she hadn’t stopped, or wasn’t watching them, but the little girl waved and called, “Hello, lady! Come have an apple!”

As a rule, Greir disliked – well, everyone. Children definitely fell under the umbrella of everyone. “How goes it?” she found herself asking anyway. “Shouldn’t run out into the road like that. You don’t know who’s around.”

“Gersha’s around,” the child said, smiling. “And you’re around. And Meat.”

“Isn’t Meat a funny name for a dog?” Greir asked, glancing up at Gersha for a moment, because Greir knew what she looked like to most people. Not that she cared, but leather armor and blood-flecked cloak and blade carried close enough to use quickly meant that most people tended to think she didn’t look like someone a small child should be talking to.

“That’s what he was supposed to be,” Gersha said with a grin, jabbing Camanne in the ribs lightly, making her giggle. “The harvest was good, though, so he got lucky.” She kissed the top of Camanne’s head. “Go play closer to the house or Mum will have both our heads. I’ll be along by and by.”

Camanne ran off, still kicking the rotted apple along in front of her. Meat chased at her heels, yipping ecstatically. The girl had decent coordination, Greir thought, watching her go.

“Hungry?”

Greir turned and looked at Gersha. She was the picture of farmer’s daughter wholesome, cheeks almost as rosy as the apple she offered to Greir in one small, work-worn hand. Her dark hair was caught up in a knot at the nape of her neck, but it looked on the verge of coming undone, and wisps of it fell around her face. “What do you do for fun around here?” she said, taking the apple and carving a slice out of it with the dagger at her hip. She offered it to Gersha, smiling wolfishly.

“You’ve seen it,” said Gersha, gesturing in the direction that her little sister had disappeared back into the orchard. She turned to Greir and raised an eyebrow. “So I’m really open to suggestion.”

They made it to a barn on the far side of the orchard, but it was a near thing. Gersha’s lips were petal-soft and her breath tasted faintly of apple, and she bit at Greir’s mouth when her hand came up to cup Gersha’s breast. Greir could feel her nipple through the rough fabric of her dress. A couple of times, Greir found herself pressed up against a tree, Gersha’s mouth trailing along her neck, her hands tugging on one of the braids alongside Greir’s face.

“This is fun,” Gersha said against her mouth as Greir pulled her down into the hay. “Isn’t this fun?”

“Fun,” Greir said, unlacing the bodice of Gersha’s gown and licking her way down her sternum and back up along her lovely white throat. Freckles kissed her skin along her shoulders and collarbones, and Greir took her time finding shapes in them, tracing them with her tongue until Gersha arched against her, pressing her down further into the bales.

Between Gersha’s dress and Greir’s cloak, they could lay together side by side. Greir’s doublet was open before she knew it, and then Gersha was pulling her tunic over her head, pressing heated kisses along the curve of her breasts. It was lovely – it was fun – heat was spreading over her, blooming across her body as she spread Gersha open and licked at the warm, wet space between her thighs. Gersha’s hands found her face, stroked her cheek as she flicked her tongue over Gersha’s clit and twisted a finger, then two, inside her. There was nothing about this, about feeling Gersha fly apart under her, that wasn’t delightful.

Maybe this, she thought as Gersha lay back against their makeshift blankets, shaking and laughing as she came down from her orgasm, this was what was fun for her.

Now she let her thoughts drift to Meltwater, to where the Snow Queen would just be waking up. Gersha’s warm little hands found their way under Greir’s skirt as she remembered, absolutely for the first time since collecting her reward from the good if slow citizens of Meltwater, the sting of frost on the Snow Queen’s breath, the way her eyes had widened in pleasure like it had been the first time, the rush of icy fluid around Greir’s gloves as the Snow Queen had melted in her arms. Somehow the flicker of Gersha’s fingers seemed to echo against the memory of the Snow Queen’s pleasure, and she moaned into Gersha’s mouth and let herself go.

“Good suggestion,” Gersha said a little while later, as they were putting themselves back into some semblance of order.

“Occasionally I have some good ideas,” Greir said modestly.

She stayed a few hours longer, eating apples and some of the creamy goat’s cheese Gersha said she was teaching Camanne how to make from the milk of a nanny goat called Milk – clearly naming was not Camanne’s strong suit. And when Gersha sent her back down the road, waving and smiling before disappearing back into the orchard, Greir hefted her bag over her shoulder and made a decision.

When she came to the fork in the road, she took the one that led to Meltwater.

 

\---

 

The town was much as she remembered it, already white with snow and clearly settling in for a long mountain winter. The innkeeper greeted her warmly, which was always a hilarious change of pace considering her normal reception at places like these – suspicion mixed with fear. “But it’s November,” he said, confused. “The Snow Queen has just woken up. We won’t need your services for another four months at least.”

“I felt a duty to check that you were fully prepared for the long winter to come,” she lied. “It seemed that last year your stocks were incomplete, and your people suffered unnecessarily.” _Because you are all idiots,_ she didn’t add, and mustered up a fake smile that the innkeeper, in all his dumbfuckery, took entirely at face value.

“You are too kind,” the innkeeper said, still seeming flustered at her arrival on his doorstep. “But you understand we can’t pay you for your troubles.” He didn’t even look afraid at saying having said this to Greir. She clearly had not made the proper impression on the people of Meltwater.

“Understood,” she said. “I think I’ll – maybe it would be wise if I spoke to the Snow Queen for you?  Figured out how long winter is going to last?”

“What a brilliant idea!” the innkeeper exclaimed. “There will be a room waiting for you when you get back!”

Well, she thought, if he was shoving her out the door, she might as well head up the mountain now. Though payment in kind was not normally acceptable – she’d have to make that very clear to the people of Meltwater upon her return. She strapped on her sword belt, pulled her warmest coat and gloves on over her doublet and armor, and trudged out into the gently falling snow.

The path up to the cave lay untrodden by anyone since the first snowfall, but it wasn’t deep and she made good time. The air was crisp up here, and she could see her breath cloud the air in front of her as she walked. It wasn’t fun, per se, but it was pleasant, and before long she was greeting the snow monster at the door like an old friend. He nodded in greeting, and she threw him the last of the apples she’d brought with her from Gersha’s grove. He grunted his thanks. “See you in a few, Zev!” she called over her shoulder as she stepped lightly into the ice cave.

The Snow Queen was lounging on a pile of white furs she knew from experience were as soft as freshly fallen snow, reading a book bound in pale leather. “You certainly know how to stick to a color scheme,” she called, and the Snow Queen looked up, her face showing shock, then joy, and finally settling into a light purple blush that was undeniably lovely.

“It’s November,” she said finally.

Greir rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure why everyone thinks I don’t know what month it is.”

“I mean, I just woke up,” the Snow Queen said, setting her book aside and sitting up. “I don’t need… I’m not supposed to, uh. _Melt_ , yet.”

Greir stepped closer, and the Snow Queen’s eyes widened, a little wisp of breath escaping her lips. “There are things we can do,” Greir said finally, “without you...  _melting_. If you want.”

“Oh,” the Snow Queen said, and Greir caught her mouth in a soft kiss, feeling her lips tingle with the cold and not minding at all.

“But only if you want,” Greir added in a murmur against her lips. “I know how seriously you take your queenly duties.”

“I think it might be okay,” the Snow Queen said quickly, and pulled her down into the furs.

The Snow Queen didn’t wear much, just a filmy robe that came undone easily under Greir’s gloved hands. She didn’t seem to mind the feel of the leather cupping her breasts, just pressed closer, licking her cool tongue along Greir's neck where it showed under her coat as her fingers plucked at the Snow Queen's nipples, teasing.

“I dreamed about this,” the Snow Queen whispered. “During the summer, I thought about – I wanted.”

“What did you want?” Greir said, hands tracing the shape of her waist, brushing her thumbs in the hollow of the Snow Queen’s hips before leaning down, breathing warm and wet along the juncture of her thighs.

“This,” she answered on a gasp. “You.”

Greir wished fervently that she hadn’t left her favorite cock, carved of dark wood, just the right size and smoothed until it was like satin to the touch, with the young man in Meltwater last year. It had been an act of generosity, and probably contributed to the Meltwater citizenry’s shameful lack of proper fear. She’d acquired a new one, of course, but it wasn’t the same.

Still, it was worth seeing if the Snow Queen noticed the difference. She dug the new cock out of her bag, grinning when the Snow Queen blushed deeper and spread her legs a little wider, squirming against the furs. “Can we…” she began, and bit her lip.

“Just let me know when you’re close,” Greir said, and trailed her fingers over the cool soft skin of the Snow Queen’s cunt, finding her wet and quivering. “We can stop whenever you need to. It’s fun for me either way.”

It was true, she realized as she watched the Snow Queen shift, the blue glow of the cave making her skin seem to shimmer with frost as she moved. She knew how to have fun. She’d always known how to have fun.

She fucked her way into the Snow Queen’s welcoming body, reveling in the gasp of pleasure that turned quickly into a lusty moan, and almost felt sorry for the monks back in Keldovan.

But not really.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta credit, with points for both speed and accuracy, go to (someone whose name will be added in after the reveal) - thank you thank you thank you! Thanks for help with the title to (other person) and (one more person) - without you this would have been called "Thing What I Wrote".


End file.
